Paved With Dirt
by Esrafil
Summary: Canon Shishido fic set before the first Hyoutei versus Seigaku match. Arrogance got him here. Pride will get him out.


**Title**: Paved with Dirt  
**Rating**: PG  
**Category**: Gen  
**Character(s)**: Shishido, with a side of Ohtori and Atobe.  
**Disclaimer**: Do not own or claim to own.  
**Summary**: Arrogance got him here. Pride will get him out.

Shishido hits the ball until his shoulder aches and the sun has gone down and the night lights are on. There is nothing beyond his racket, the ball, and the plain concrete wall that stands impenetrable before him. It is an act of futility, he knows, but right now that's all he has left.

The return is instinctive. Reflexes act faster than the mind and he likes it that way, thinks it's better, has to hone in until they're good and sharp enough that they can act without need for too much direction. Logic dictates that there's no pulling himself out, that he's off the team, end of story.

Whatever. He doesn't care. Years of stubbornness are almost broken by a thirty second conversation that he wasn't even part of, but not quite. If he moves fast enough reason can't catch up to him and there's nothing to stop him from trying no matter what the costs.

Arrogance got him here. Pride will get him out.

After school on Friday he catches Ohtori while he's headed toward tennis practice. There's a flash of surprise mixed with guilt and discomfort, but it's gone before it can settle. Shishido feels an answering pang of conscience that he brushes aside, instead forcing lightness into his tone.

"Hey, Ohtori."

"It's good to see you, Shishido-san." 

He scratches the back of his head. He's never been good at asking favors of anyone, much less someone who seems like he'd willingly help out of genuine good faith and nothing more. Still, he would rather die than ask Atobe, and oddly - though not surprisingly - out of the other members of the team Ohtori's the only one he trusts enough to be useful. "Would you be willing to do me a favor?"

Ohtori regards him for a moment, curiosity written on his features. He doesn't commit quite yet, though, and instead asks, "What is it?"

Shishido sucks in a breath, steeling himself to say the words. "I want to get back on the team."

There it is in the open. Somehow it seems more real now that he's said it, maybe even a little crazy.

"No one's managed to do that before," Ohtori says, and somehow the words hold only mild interest with no hint of criticism or doubt. 

Shishido relaxes and even manages a cocky grin. "They just haven't tried hard enough."

"And are you willing to?"

The inflection of tone and Ohtori's look is serious enough that it draws Shishido into a moment of pause. He doesn't answer immediately, giving the question the consideration it's due. In the end he lifts his chin and returns his gaze squarely.

"Yeah, I am."

Ohtori smiles and it's different than the other smiles Shishido's seen him give before. Still just as polite, but it touches his eyes this time. "I'll see you once practice is over, then."

"This is insane, Shishido-san."

Ohtori stands across from him with his arms crossed, racket resting against his bicep. Shishido is inclined to agree; there's a tennis-ball sized bruise forming on his thigh and his right shoulder hurts like a bitch. He shakes his head, though, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Maybe. Just serve the damn ball again, Ohtori."

"I'm not going to keep injuring you."

Part of him is surprised Ohtori's being this unyielding on the point, but really, he should have expected it since no one in their second year makes it on the team without some sort of stubborn streak. He sighs, tightening his ponytail as he glares a little across the net in frustration. "_You_ aren't injuring me. I'm purposefully putting myself in the way of the ball, so if it's anyone's fault it's _mine_."

Ohtori has the grace to give him an exasperated look, lips pursing. "Hence the insanity that I don't know if I want to have any part in."

"Come _on_, you agreed to this."

Ohtori frowns at him. Shishido knows that isn't a fair argument since he didn't exactly give him a lot to go on, but it's pretty much the only card he has in his deck to play. "I didn't know helping you entitled physical abuse."

"All training is. Just think of this as more hardcore."

Ohtori just stares at him and Shishido can feel the impatience crawling in his skin. It's only the first day; he has the feeling that if they can get through this they can get through anything. Ohtori turns his back on him and walks toward the baseline. "Just another half hour."

"All right," Shishido relents, though mentally he swears, since he was hoping to at least get another hour or two in. Still, he'll take what he can get. "Now, serve."

Two weeks later he has gotten used to the routine. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays Ohtori stays long after regular practice has ended to help Shishido. Sometimes in the interim he'll practice by himself against the wall on the other side of the school, but most of the time he hurriedly does his homework tucked away in a corner of the library where no one disturbs him. They meet up on the weekends, too, at the street courts near his house.

He hasn't spoken to Atobe in nearly three weeks now. It isn't quite the blessing he would have once expected, but he isn't going to break the silence either. Most days he eats his lunch with Mukahi, who within a day after his loss still insults his face and argues with him over his choice in music. Oshitari sometimes joins them, but more often he's with Atobe. Whenever Shishido offers to Mukahi to go join them as per the norm, the brat just rolls his eyes and later throws a wadded piece of paper at the back of his head during their chemistry lesson.

When he gets home his mother frowns at the newly forming bruises and furrows her brows at the ones that are healing and tinged violet and green. She never gets around to saying anything, however, and his father rests a hand on her arm and nods at him in understanding, to which she huffs a little then gives him extra rice at dinner. His brother has taken to simply chunking an icepack at him as soon as he enters the door.

The days aren't as bad as he thought they would be and not once does he question if it is worth it.

It's threatening to rain the night everything falls into place. The gray clouds from earlier don't leave with the setting sun and night seems to press around the halos of light provided by the overhead electric lights. It doesn't matter much to him as long as the courts aren't slick and it's not cold enough for either of them to catch a cold. 

Ohtori serves ten times. Shishido catches the ball nine.

He isn't perfect yet, but each time there's a hard thud against the palm of his hand his grin threatens to split wider and Ohtori's answers in return. He knows the next day he'll barely be able to flex his fingers or hold a pencil. It doesn't really matter much in the light of everything. Ohtori's doesn't even frown when Shishido yells at him to not hold back and give him his best shot.

Taki's not a bad guy. They're friends in that gravitational sort of way, where it's more out of mutual amicability than anything particularly deep in common. He plays doubles with Ohtori who seems to like him well enough and he's loyal to Atobe. It's still enough to raise him from the level of acquaintanceship, oddly, since those two traits along with the fact that he's got an impressive backhand warrant Shishido's respect.

It's all a matter of bad luck, really, that he got Shishido's spot on the team, and it's him that Shishido needs to beat to get it back from.

He challenges him after school. It's all rather stupidly melodramatic and a hush falls around the courts for a good five minutes as their game begins. Then starts up the usual taunts and yells, mostly against him, and isn't quiet again until he's up in Taki's service game 0-40.

When he takes the set, he wonders if his shock is equal to that on Taki's face. He assumes so, as he stands over him in a daze, not seeing or hearing anyone else around him. It's all about to come back to him in a rush of elation, of victory, when Sakaki's voice cuts through that, loud and clear.

"Taki's lost. Hiyoshi, you'll take his spot on the regulars."

His hair hasn't been this short in years. It almost makes him feel light-headed, and he cringes as he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He did a shitty, sloppy job of it, but that's to be expected. He had kept that as a last resort, one he didn't want to have to fall back on, but nevertheless it has gotten him what he wanted.

"Congratulations."

He hears Atobe before he lifts his eyes to catch the other's reflection in the mirror. He doesn't say anything, still scrubbing a hand through his too short bangs. The glare he casts is half-hearted at best.

"You're welcome, too."

That gets Shishido to roll his eyes. He turns to face Atobe, who simply quirks one eyebrow and smirks thinly. "I didn't ask you to interfere."

"No, you didn't," he says coldly. "Which is why you could be a little more grateful that I saved your ass."

That bastard. First time he speaks to Shishido in weeks, and that's what he's got to say, when before he hasn't done one single thing to even acknowledge his existence. "Oh, right, because a few words from you are what _really_ got me back on the team."

"If memory serves correctly, why yes, they did."

It's in that moment Shishido punches him, a clean hit across the jaw; Atobe gives him an answering blow in return. "You're an asshole."

Atobe sneers, rubbing one hand against his cheek. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you."

They fall silent and Shishido turns his back on him, gripping the edges of the sink. He closes his eyes and sighs. "You didn't have to step in for me."

"You could have asked for my help at any time." 

The words are soft and Shishido's insides freeze for a moment. He bites his lip, shakes his head once in negation. "No, I couldn't have."

Neither of them speak for a long moment and the silence stretches long enough to be uncomfortable. Then Shishido laughs, an exhausted, rueful, sound that he can't really control. Atobe looks at him like he did the time he melted all those weird fancy cheeses to make a sandwich, then just shakes his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were completely hopeless."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You really made a mess of this."

Shishido watches Atobe suspiciously in the mirror as the other attacks his hair with comb and scissors. He flat out refuses to go to see the other's stylist and if he lets his mother take care of it he'll probably end up with hair like Hiyoshi. "Yeah, well, I'd like to see you do better."

"I _am_ doing better, since now at least you don't have random long chunks of hair."

"It's not like I really planned for this." Atobe just stares at him. He shifts uncomfortably, which earns him an annoyed sound and a hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving around. "Well, not a lot anyway."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to run with scissors?"

"Shut up."

"Hey, Choutarou."

Ohtori looks up from where he's tying his sneakers. It's Shishido's first real practice back on the regulars, and he's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ohtori grins at him, straightening up. "Good to be back in Singles 3?"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Shishido bites the inside of his jaw. He still isn't good at asking, even if he feels more comfortable doing so with Ohtori than anyone else. "Play doubles with me. I'm sure we can kick Mukahi and Oshitari's asses and take doubles one from them."

"Of course, Shishido-san."

The first game he wins back on the team leaves him with the best fucking feeling in the world.


End file.
